


Nightmares

by biblionerd07



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: And then snuggle, Bucky and Steve talk through their issues, M/M, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Mostly they just yell at each other, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wakes up in the middle of the night from the old familiar nightmare of Bucky falling from the train, and the only person he can rely on for comfort also ends up picking at his wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my computer foreeeeever and I've made small changes here and there. It's not exactly what I had in mind or what I want but it's at the point now where I know if I keep messing with it I'll just get more unhappy with it.

Steve wakes up gasping for breath. He feels Bucky’s hand on his chest, thumb rubbing steady circles in the hollow of his neck, and for a wild moment he thinks Captain America was just a dream and he’s in Brooklyn, he’s seventeen, and Bucky’s coaxing him through an asthma attack like he’s done a million and a half times before, tapping his thumb in the rhythm Steve’s heart should be beating in hopes that the organ will follow suit.

But then he sees the glint of moonlight on Bucky’s fingers, because they’re metal, and he realizes if he takes a deep breath all the air gets into his lungs instead of catching somewhere in between. Once his breathing starts to calm down a little, he hears the familiar litany of comfort Bucky’s whispering.

“’S alright, Stevie, come on now, breathe, you know the drill, pal, breathe in on the left and out on the right, you’re okay.”

Steve obediently sucks in a breath when Bucky’s thumb hits its furthest point on the left and lets out a hiss of air when the thumb sweeps over to the right. He starts to calm down almost immediately, thanks to the air in his lungs and the familiarity of the scene and the comfort of having Bucky beside him. Steve’s sweating, his skin is hot; he feels chilled and clammy. His breath evens out, but Bucky doesn’t move his hand.

“Remember when my hand took up your whole chest?” Bucky asks, and his grin is wry but his eyes are sad. When Steve thinks about it he remembers that it was always that way.

“You could have crushed me.” Steve huffs out a laugh and Bucky’s thumb stops, twitches, and then resumes its soothing.

“I could crush you now,” he says, voice empty. There is a long beat of silence where Steve curses himself. “What was your nightmare?” Bucky stops Steve’s self-deprecation from getting out of control.

“Who says I was having a nightmare?” Steve draws bravado from his memories of Bucky as a cocky teenager, big words and careless laughter and those sad, sad eyes. Bucky gives him a look and Steve sighs. “The train,” he admits. “You falling.”

Bucky’s thumb stops its arc and rests in the hollow of Steve’s throat. Bucky is biting his lip, taking deep breaths through his nose, and he wills himself to stay in the moment and not fall back into his own memories.

“I’m alive,” he offers as comfort to Steve, voice tight and pained and Steve wants to ask _are you really_? Sometimes Steve can’t tell the difference between Bucky’s ghost that haunted his dreams and this Bucky, alive and breathing and metal-armed.

“I dream about that most nights.” Steve surprises himself by saying it. “Sometimes in my dream I’m fast enough and I can catch you. Or I go back for you.”

Bucky lets out a long breath, eyes sliding closed against an onslaught of confusing emotions. He doesn’t understand why Steve feels guilty. But he knows if the roles had been reversed he’d feel guilty, too, so he doesn’t get too angry.

“Steve,” he says softly. He leans down to rest his forehead against Steve’s and they breathe together for a minute.

“If I could’ve saved you—” Steve starts, a familiar fantasy.

“Don’t.” Bucky’s breathing harshly now. He’s thought about it, too, when Steve’s brought it up. Steve insists he wouldn’t have sent the plane into the ocean if Bucky had been alive, and Bucky insists he would’ve but Bucky would’ve been with him, so they’d both have woken up in some strange room made up to look like it was from their time. Bucky can’t stand to think about it—either he and Steve would’ve grown old together, if Steve was right, or they’d still be here in the future but there would be about ten times as much laughter.

“Can’t change what happened,” Bucky reasons. “Might as well forget it.”

“You could’ve had a good life,” Steve argues, because Steve never knows when to just drop something. “Even if I’d still gone under the ice.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s an ugly, broken sound. “You think I could’ve had a good life without you?” He protests. “Steve, if I was alive—awake, whatever—when you went under, I’d have followed you in a second.”

Steve goes up onto his elbow to look at Bucky’s eyes. “Don’t say that, Buck,” he begs quietly. “Don’t talk about that.”

“I would’ve,” Bucky insists.

“You could’ve found a dame, had kids—a dog, even, you always wanted a dog.” Steve’s talking over Bucky, ignoring what Bucky’s saying, unwilling to imagine Bucky taking his own life.

“You think I would’ve found a dame?” Bucky’s gone still beside Steve, his eyes hard. “You think I would’ve ever found _anyone_?”

“Buck…”

“No, Steve, I’m serious right now. There’s never been anyone else for me. There’s never gonna _be_ anyone else for me. We’re both lucky I’d already fallen when you went under, because I tell you right now, I would’ve just ended it. Shit, I’ve thought about it _now_ and you’re still here—”

“Shut up, Buck. Don’t even say that. I’m not listening to this.” Steve swings his legs off the bed, wanting to cover his ears like a child.

“You had a life before I came back, you got friends and you were going on dates and then I came and fucked it all up. Jesus, Steve, you must’ve been disappointed when I showed up.”

“Fuck you, Bucky,” Steve snarls, pacing now. “You think you always know what’s best for me but you’re just being selfish. I was _drowning_ here without you. I let Natasha set me up because I knew nothing was ever going to come of it. I was miserable and reckless and I _didn’t care_ if I died on a mission as long as I saved everyone else because I _don’t care_ if I live or die if you’re not there beside me.” Steve’s chest is heaving and he’s on the verge of tears. He and Bucky have had shortened versions of this argument—stilted versions, less truthful versions—but they’ve never made it to this point, this throbbing wound at both their cores.

“I didn’t care about falling off the train,” Bucky whispers. “Long as you were safe.”

“Well, I didn’t care about crashing in the ocean,” Steve counters. “Long as you were dead.” He drops his head to stare at the ground. There’s a beat of silence, and then Bucky sighs.

“Sorta like Romeo and Juliet, huh?” Bucky laughs softly. “I gotta stay alive for you, you gotta stay alive for me.”

“I’d prefer a happier ending than Romeo and Juliet.” Steve comes back to the bed and wraps himself all around Bucky, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“I’m so fucked up.” Bucky’s voice is barely audible, but Steve can feel his lips moving in Steve’s hair.

“Me too.” Steve shrugs a little. “Might as well be fucked up together, right? ‘Cause I know I’m way more fucked up without you.”

Bucky cracks a watery smile at that and pulls Steve’s face up to kiss him softly. Their movements are gentle and careful; Steve had imagined, while he was waiting for Bucky to come back to him after the hellicarrier, a lot of desperation, a lot of bruising kisses and frenzied hands. And yeah, their first time back together was a bit harsh and had an edge of panicked disbelieving to it, but that was the only time. They relish their time together now, languish in sleepy kisses and mingled breath.

“Go back to sleep,” Bucky orders against Steve’s temple, hands rubbing up and down Steve’s back.

“Only if you do.”

“How did I forget how contrary you’ve always been?” Bucky mutters. “Can’t take a simple order without adding your own two cents.”

“You like it,” Steve rebuts absently.

They curl together, legs tangling together and Bucky’s hair falling across both their faces, and gently ease their way back to sleep together. Maybe someday the nightmares will stop for good. But for now, they rely on each other to be there when the nightmares come.


End file.
